When Love Burned Through The Draperies





When love burned through the draperies

My soul did start, ill-clad

I sat before the mirror

And found nought to make me glad

Still steeped in sleep and darkness

And hibernation's maw

I had no mind for visitors

When love rapped on the door.


A wreath of advent candles

I'd counted one to five

then shrank at celebration

with no worthy gift to give

The silence gathered round me

like snow upon a tomb

I nursed a withered heart from grief

weaving yarns upon my loom.


The threads were bright as silver

outlining every cloud

The reds were warm as berries

and told not of blood that flowed

The blues belonged to April

The greens were plucked from May

while autumn's incandescence

was the richest irony.


I had no truck with winter

my windows fastened tight

my doors were lagged with sackcloth

my cinders warmed the night

The adamantine rime did glint

upon the stricken willow

Rain and gales vented spleen

but I clung to my pillow.


So little did I understand

cocooned within the womb

that heaven declared a rebirth

and all my senses dumb

would wake like Lazarus and dance

and all my mourning maim

when love seared through the draperies

and set the door aflame!



The Twain, Poems of Earth and Ether